


dawn

by ere_melo



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-29
Updated: 2015-04-29
Packaged: 2018-03-26 06:59:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3841474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ere_melo/pseuds/ere_melo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>he's all hers in those starlit hours between. eren/annie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	dawn

The sun comes up between her ribs, a crown of dark hair nestled safely between the pale valley of her breasts, and her broken heart hammers out a soft love long for his deaf ear. She feels him before she sees him; pads of thin fingertips massaging circles into the earth of his scalp, a quiet prayer that flowers will grow. He makes a soft sound, synapses crackling to life as he shifts against her -- it's impossible to get any closer, so he simply peels away her skin and crawls inside. Even through all his heavy, subconscious movements, he makes her long for him.

Her lids flutter back to reveal the most flawless of diamonds, drinking in the buttermilk morning. Silent, the light filtering in to catch each speck of dust and illuminate it not unlike fireflies in the summer night -- she looks upon the monster in her arms, and sighs a poem for him, the tip of her nose venturing into a jungle of thick and unkempt strands. In such a state he smells like docility and the dirt, malleable only in the vulnerable state offered to only her. She decides to reward herself ten extra minutes, not so long that the sunrise may cast wicked shadows across the land, before waking him. 

He stirs another time; tucks himself down under her sternum, a stray and somnambulant thumb sweeping too gently against her side. Her flesh breaks out into goosebumps and she curls into him, held fast against her solar plexus, against the fire smoldering under her skin. She adores him, like broken bones and clouds of clay-red dust blotting the afternoon air. She yearns for him, a ferociously persistent thing that pulls at her like the tide. 

She loves him, like winter thawing and warmth seeping into ice; a slow and consuming melt that has her wasting away, splintering deeply enough to crack into her very core as she becomes her truest self. Even then, can she only helplessly reflect his likeness, and those piercing green eyes. 

She whispers his name with uncharacteristic softness. "It's morning." His mouth is waxy with disuse, his brows knitted tightly in a hazy sort of confusion -- it takes him a moment to recognize her, and her toes curl at the way his expression transforms into one so firm into one with such palpable tenderness. She fights every impulse that tells her to reach out and touch him. 

"You'll be missed if you don't hurry," she tells him, her gaze sweeping over the occupied bunks in the room, in each bed tucked a peaceful, slumbering female -- rows of girl soldiers in the only reprieve left for them. The corners of her mouth lift imperceptibly. "Or worse." He grunts out a curt reply; it's endlessly endearing to her, such a foolishly enamored child. In a girlish way she even finds him cute as he clambers out of her bed and tugs his jacket up over his shoulders. His attention slants back to her, her boy she'd smuggled in after all the lanterns had gone out, leaving them to their sticky touches and their hushed sounds in the humid night. "I'm going, but you'll be at breakfast later, right?" The delicate way he balances his question makes the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. 

She glides her fingers over his collar, arms stretched out for miles behind the nape of his neck before ensnaring him; she wraps herself around him and pulls him close as the sun draws higher in the sky. Her poor, mistaken animal boy, as he glows with hope so fervently it scalds her. She pushes him away for the sake of watching his flame flicker, and die. 

"Maybe." Her voice is carefully measured, the desired effect awarded to her as he turns on his heel and tiptoes out of the barracks, and she falls back against her pillow with cheeks pink. 

Her rabbit heart pounds out another ballad, racing away faster than she could ever hope to catch it. 

 

_“I’m your girl,” she said in the dark. “Your girl. No matter what I’m always your girl.”_  
— Ernest Hemingway, _The Garden of Eden_


End file.
